


Midwinter (But Not The Song, Coda #4)

by emilyray (emilyenrose), ignipes



Series: But Not The Song [5]
Category: Bandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-26
Updated: 2008-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyenrose/pseuds/emilyray, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts snowing at dusk. The grounds of the estate are blanketed by the time supper is finished. The wind is sharp and bitter, and there's a draft from the window. Victoria shivers and draws the curtains shut, crosses the room again and drags her chair closer to the fireplace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midwinter (But Not The Song, Coda #4)

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**Midwinter (But Not The Song, Coda #4)**   
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[Story Index and Warnings](http://community.livejournal.com/shacklesnchains/446.html)

 ** _Midwinter_**  
_

It starts snowing at dusk. The grounds of the estate are blanketed by the time supper is finished. The wind is sharp and bitter, and there's a draft from the window. Victoria shivers and draws the curtains shut, crosses the room again and drags her chair closer to the fireplace.

"Stop worrying," Alex says. He's sitting in a wing-backed chair on the other side of the hearth, slouched down with his legs stretched before him. His eyes are closed; she had thought he was asleep.

"I'm not worrying," she says. She tucks her legs under her and pulls a blanket over her lap.

"He'll be fine."

"I know," she says, too sharply.

"There's no reason for anybody to suspect -"

"Are you trying to reassure me or yourself?"

Alex opens one eye and smiles crookedly. "I'm not the one who's worried."

Victoria rolls her eyes. "Neither of us is worried, then."

Nodding slowly, Alex says, "There have never been two less worried people in all the world." He closes his eye again. "Unless we're worrying about the horse. I like that horse."

Victoria doubts he even knows what horse Ryland is riding. It's been three weeks since Ryland left, and almost a week since they've heard from him. According to his last letter he's due back tonight. But the storm blew in swift and sudden, blanketing the countryside in hard, windswept snow almost without warning. There is no village near this drafty, crumbling old house of Nate's, no place to stop if a traveler is caught out on the road, and the wind rattling the window panes sometimes sounds too much like distant hoof beats.

"Do you think -" She stops, presses her lips together, and looks into the fire.

Alex opens his eyes, crosses his arms over his chest and shivers. "What?"

The weather is probably even worse in the north, in the forest and hills around her estate. Her former estate. Her father's former country home, his father's before him, and so on, the pride of her family for seven generations. But now it's lost, seized by the crown, and it hasn't been safe to go back until now. It's probably not safe even now, but Victoria wants to know, and Ryland offered to go and see. She wants to know if they're even doing anything with the estate - barracks for the army, a gift for a loyal sycophant, a hunting retreat for a favored official - or if it's been empty since the warm autumn night she rode away, nearly four months ago. She wonders if the doors and windows are locked up tight or if snow is drifting in the drawing room and corridors, if the stable is warm and comfortable with the heat of animals or if there are only rats burrowing in stale, rotten straw. It's still a conspiracy investigation and everything is shrouded in secrecy, but Nate was able to learn that they'd sold all of her belongings, all the furniture and paintings and animals.

And the musical instruments. Every one of them, the ordinary and the exotic, gathered up by careless soldiers and sold to clumsy dilettantes for a passing amusement.

Something twists in her chest and she closes her eyes briefly, breathes evenly for a few moments.

Nate had said, after he'd learned what he could, "The bailiffs had no record of a - of any slaves being sold with the rest of the property." He'd spoken cautiously, like a man picking his way over unstable, unfamiliar ground. "The servants were questioned and set free." It wasn't anything, it wasn't good news or bad news, and she'd already told herself the same thing a thousand times since August: _I should have taken him with me, I could have kept him safe, I should have found a way_. But she hadn't once said it aloud, not even to Ryland and Alex, who already knew. She didn't say it to Nate either. She thanked him for the risk he'd taken to find out so much, for the shelter of his home, and she didn't ask again.

When she looks again Alex is watching her like he knows exactly what she's thinking.

Victoria meets his gaze evenly and says, "We should go to town."

Alex stares at her for a long moment. "What?"

"I'm tired of hiding here in the middle of nowhere," she says. There are solid stone walls around them and a fire in the hearth, soft beds waiting upstairs and warm blankets to stave off the winter nights. Even old and unused as it is, this country estate is indescribably better than the places they've spent the last few months. They'd split up after they left her home in the north, the three of them, scattering to different places throughout the country, hiding alone in cellars and attics, woodsheds and caves, never staying in one place too long, never taking the risk of putting anyone else in danger. Weeks passed, then months, while the officials questioned everyone she knew, every friend she'd ever known. Finally, _finally_ , rumors began to circulate that Lady Asher and her two most trusted servants had fled the country, and they were able to stop running. For now.

Alex is looking at her like she's lost her mind. "You want to go to town."

"We're useless here," Victoria says. She smooths the blanket over her lap and shrugs. "There must be something we can do in the city."

"Well, sure," says Alex, gesturing carelessly. "We can be _executed_ , that's what we can do. That'll be fun." But he sits upright and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What are you thinking, Vic?"

She's thinking that a prison, even one as comfortable as Nate's country home, is still a prison. She's thinking that there are more important things than safety, than sanctuary. She's thinking that no matter how many people they save, no matter how many they set free, there will always be one more. She's thinking that there are things she can do now that no one else in the Cobra can do, because she's already lost everything that matters.

She says, "I'm bored."

"You're crazy."

"We can't stay here forever."

"It'll be dangerous," Alex says, but Victoria knows he's not arguing with her. "None of us can risk meeting up with your old crowd, but maybe..." He leans back in the chair again and looks up at the ceiling, his expression thoughtful. She knows he's already running through the possibilities in his mind. "It's easy to get recognized in town, but it's also easy to get lost, if you know what you're doing."

Victoria smiles. "I'm sure you'll think of something. I could always join Gabe's entourage."

Alex's gaze snaps back to her. "I don't think..." He trails off, frowning.

"It's the last place anybody would think to find me," Victoria points out. It had always been one of their greatest advantages before, the fact that she and Gabe rarely moved in the same circles. Most of her acquaintances - former acquaintances - would give up their titles and fortunes before they'd willingly associate with someone like the scandalous Mr. Saporta, all money and no class.

"It's not what you're used to," Alex says casually. If she hadn't known him for so long, Victoria thinks, she might not hear the subtle worry in his voice.

"What does it matter?" she says, suddenly annoyed. "I can't do what I'm used to anymore. I can't - I can't _be_ that person anymore. She's gone. She's dead. She's worse than dead, she's _useless_."

Alex is quiet for a long moment, staring into the fire. Finally he says, "You're pretty good at pretending to be an empty-headed noblewoman who's never had a revolutionary political thought in her life."

Victoria waits, thinking that it's nice of him not to mention that's exactly what she _was_ before she met Nate, who introduced her to Gabe, who sent him and Ryland to teach her how to set up her old family estate as a safehouse, to keep up the lie and play the game, to find out people's secrets and exploit their weaknesses. She feels a stab of worry, a new thought: if they go to town and she decides to hide in plain sight as part of Gabe's hedonistic traveling circus, Alex and Ryland might end up elsewhere, working some other scheme. She's always thought they made a good team, the three of them, but maybe it will have to change now. Maybe that's another thing she's lost.

When Alex doesn't go on, she prompts him, "But?"

"But pretending to be a courtesan, Vic?" he says doubtfully. "You really want to do that?"

 _Want_ is a funny word, she thinks. What she wants is to be home again, cozily tucked away in her estate, burrowed in for the long, bitter northern winter. She wants to be sitting by the fireplace in the music room, falling asleep while Brendon plays something low and slow and new, picking his way softly through a melody that exists only in his mind. She wants it to be August again, the last long, warm days of summer, and she wants to stop herself before she says, _Do you trust me?_ She wants to say, _Get your things, we're leaving_ , instead. She wants to go back to last summer, the high, hot days full of sunshine and laughter, and she wants to figure out what she did wrong, what mistake she made, who she trusted when she shouldn't have, what she said that set the wheels in motion, that made everything fall apart. She wants to see the face of the person who betrayed her - whoever it was, whatever they learned - and she wants to ask _why_.

"Or a dancer," she says. "A musician, a singer. Maybe a fortune teller? It doesn't really matter, does it?" Victoria knows some of the people Gabe keeps around him are supposed to be seen, cover for him like Brendon was for her, and some of them are meant to be hidden, like she could be. But she's never been able to tell the difference just by watching, and she's never tried to ask. "Gabe could tell people I juggle fire and they would believe him. And he can always use more eyes and ears in town."

Alex glances at her quickly then looks back at the fire. "That's not what I meant."

She knows. He's asking if she wants to put on the costumes and paint, the carefully constructed persona and never-ending lies, to be a curiosity at parties rather than puppetmaster, to endure the leers and jokes and grasping hands of those who will see her as no more than an expensive bit of property, a toy to be enjoyed and shared.

(She remembers a party she hosted once, a wild summer night full of idiot noblemen and women, too much wine and too much laughter. A woman she barely knew, an earl's wife from the south, was sitting on the piano bench beside Brendon, her expression pink and giggling when anybody looked, covetous and hungry when she thought nobody was watching. The woman found Victoria on the terrace later hours later, clasped their hands together as though they were old friends and said, "Oh, darling, you _must_ let me borrow your pet for the summer. Only a month or two, perhaps we can trade? Do you hunt? My husband's finest bitch is due to whelp soon, the pups will be worth a fortune. I shall _weep_ if you tell me no." Victoria doesn't remember what she said, only that she spent the rest of the evening imagining clawing the woman's eyes out with her fingernails, and much later when the house was quiet she and Brendon lay in bed together whispering and giggling about the guests, mocking their clothing and hats and stupid jokes, making up funny nicknames for them and gossiping about whose husband was sleeping with whose wife. The sky was growing light and the birds were singing when his face grew serious and he asked if something was wrong. She only said, "Nothing, nothing," and kissed him until he smiled again, until he laughed again, warm and tousled and sleepy, and dawn was breaking through the window. She couldn't even remember that woman's name, the one who wanted to take him away.)

The wind rattles the panes, and a gust through the chimney stirs a shower of sparks from the fire. Victoria unfolds her legs and stands up, puts another log on the fire and watches it settle over the glowing embers. The floor is cold through her stockings, but she walks over to the window and pushes back the curtain.

"Maja does it all the time," Victoria says. She hugs her arms around herself and leans against the window's wooden frame. The snow is still falling steadily and she can barely see the forest that surrounds the house.

Behind her, Alex makes a frustrated noise; he was probably hoping she'd dropped the subject. "That's not the same thing."

"Why not?" Victoria snaps, suddenly annoyed. She turns around, but Alex is still sitting in the chair, still facing the fire. "Why the hell not? Because she used to _be_ a slave, so that makes it okay for her -"

"What? No, that's not - _no_ ," Alex says. He leans over the arm of his chair and fixes with a look that's about half confusion and half disappointment. "It's different because Maja can kill a man with her bare hands or, I don't know, a fucking hairpin and half a canape if she's really strapped for ideas. That makes it okay for her to do a hell of a lot that the rest of us can't get away with."

Victoria glares at him for a moment, then sighs. "I can learn to do that," she says. She tosses her hair over her should and lifts her chin. "I can start practicing right now."

Alex laughs. "Nate will be furious if you murder me in his drawing room."

"He'll get over it," she says dismissively.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"About killing you with my hairpin?"

Alex only raises an eyebrow and waits.

Victoria shrugs slightly. "We're useless here."

"Yeah," says Alex with a sigh. "We really are."

It's not a decision - that will have to wait for when Ryland returns - but it's enough for now.

Victoria turns away. In the glass of the window she can see her own reflection, a shadowy ghost surrounded by firelight. The drive below is completely hidden by the snow, the tracks left by the groundskeeper earlier now buried and lost.

After several minutes of silence, Alex says, "Stop worrying." But he sounds alert, wide awake, nowhere near falling asleep.

"I'm not," Victoria says.

She closes her eyes and presses her forehead against the cold glass, and she listens for the sound of hooves over the howl of the wind.


End file.
